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In April of 2004, I attended the March for Women’s Lives on the national mall in DC. It was my first march, my first protest. I went alone, driving to Greensboro in the middle of the night to board a bus at Temple Emanuel. I have no recollection now of how I learned about that bus trip or what really compelled me to go other than it was a protest against restrictions on access to abortion and other anti-woman policies. I don’t remember any of the women I met that day, but I remember the camaraderie developed on the six hour ride. I remember looking out over a sea of women and experiencing a thrill of excitement and swell of emotion. I remember being astonished, as a 38 year-old, by the many older women there. It was the first time I had seen an older woman holding an “I cannot believe I still have to protest this…” sign. A sentiment I have seen expressed many, many times since.